


Sweet Creature

by lightningrogers



Series: West 35th [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Brooklyn, Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pet Names, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Secret Relationship, Slow Dancing, Sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 02:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20592830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningrogers/pseuds/lightningrogers
Summary: Sharing time together before Bucky goes.





	Sweet Creature

The song for this part is Sweet Creature by Harry Styles:<https://open.spotify.com/user/nihilismdun/playlist/0iqtApD1DN1dM4RpTsL93n?si=ymY6T_PfQ8-Ht6MtlTGP_A>

It wasn’t a particularly abnormal morning for James. Meandering down, his polished shoes clacked on the metal stairs of the fire escape. It was early – perhaps around six – and paper boys were starting to carve the pavement, hollering and jeering like birds in flight as they managed to simultaneously hit their target doors and wake the families behind them. Swinging, James stole a second to compare the young boys to their counterpart. They were soaring, legs pumping the pedals while arms waved and struck the air. The handrail was condensation slicked beneath his coffee-mug-warmed fingertips; the only thing warmer was Steve last night as he leant into the crook of James’ shoulder, crooning, small desperate sounds that caused goosebumps to raise in mountains and valleys all over his body. In memory, Steve would continue to be almost as beautiful as he was in the flesh.

Steve had taken such devilish delight in raking through James’ perfectly slicked hair, that a pang had coursed through his chest when he tried with futile strokes of a comb to tame it just a little. Only a little – he wanted secret reminders of everything that last night was on every single part of him. He hadn’t ended up nearly as  _ marked _ as Steve had. It was probably for the best. Skipping off the last few steps, his lips came to blow a faint tone, a second of a tune he would probably never mark as important. His finger gripped shirt remained only half tucked, another reminder of Steve and his attempts to help James redress that morning. It was a gentle, protective, fondness that overwhelmed him as he remembered Steve’s fingers dipping below his waistline, but suddenly removing themselves as the kettle on the stove whistled. Scatterbrained was the best way to describe Steve, especially in the mornings, where his sleep fogged brain hadn’t fully awoken and the bags under his eyes hadn’t quite faded enough yet. He still smiled so innocently though, with such genuine happiness that James could never help but saunter up behind him and wrap his arms around the smaller man’s frightfully slim torso. mouth pressed to his neck and moving down to his collarbone, Steve always laughed, and pushed him backwards with his body, turning to hand him the coffee. 

  
Quiet “thanks, doll,” rolling off his tongue, Steve’s cheeks would burn, suddenly bashful under James’ eyes. this was when James loved him most. there was just something about the way Steve held himself, such unnoticed care and precision (despite his constant burn for justice and uncoordinated being) when he was around, that it made James sink slightly at the knees to think about. Steve was golden; pure joy. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, James’ creased slacks crinkled slightly with the jostling of his steps. The alley behind Steve’s apartment smelled of discontent and something wretched, breeding dark places for broken limbs and blackmailed meetings to occur. The dull drone of the city streets beyond these narrow pathways would usually be enough to make James’ head ache, car horns sharpening the pounding behind his eyes just enough for him to wince every once in awhile. This morning, though, something about this god blessed morning, had him grinning - nothing detracting from the thoughts of him and his partner last night. 

James didn’t know what it was that made him turn, whether it was the memory of Steve beneath him, eyes half closed and blissful, or the knowledge that if he looked and waited for long enough, he might spot him through the fire escape window. Pacing or twirling or dancing to his record player, Sinatra or the Mills Brothers most likely, he often forgot about drawing the curtains once they had been opened. James could see it so clearly, them swaying in the living room, holding close, foreheads pressed together while he sung too softly to nothing in particular.  _ “I could write a preface on how we met...Then the world discovers as my book ends, how to make two lovers of friends…”  _

But when he did, his heart stuttered at the sight.

Fractured light made any kind of desperate attempt to break through the buildings; it spotlighted upon the back of Steve’s place, warming the cold brick, livening the space around it. there, in the frame of the window, was Steve himself – so heavenly, bathed in such a holy morning glow. James almost keened aloud. They were looking at each other now, but passers by would never take enough care to notice.  _ It was probably for the best. _ Legs dangling, barely reaching the metal platform below his feet, James could tell the light haired man was using what little core strength he had to remain seated on the sill. Bruised grin saturating his mouth, even from here it was undeniable the state of Steve’s skin. Red marks adorning his neck, blooms of purple and blue grew like flowers over his partially exposed chest. Absolutely ravaged: he was covered in sex and adoration and perhaps even  _ James himself _ . As much was evident in the fact that Steve had draped himself in one of James’ old dressing gowns, dark and light blue pinstripes accentuating his sharp features and straw coloured hair and synonymously cerulean eyes. It had been James’ when they were teenagers, nothing but friends with the slight, terrifying suspicion they weren’t quite normal. weren’t quite men, perhaps – they could always remain boys, but  _ men _ ? Not with their affliction, it seemed. Even still, as young adults now (bodies more grown and affliction nothing more than anyone else’s love) the robe pooled and bunched on Steve in the same places it had stretched and warped on James. Steve was apparently fated to be physically small and weak forever. 

Hunched with poor posture, he cradled James’ unfinished mug of coffee in his fragile hands, coy teeth and upturned lips appearing over the rim. Half-framed glasses slipping down his nose, he took a hesitant sip, giggling as he choked. Struggling to remain within its midst, the bubbles of laughter that shook Steve almost had him tumbling backwards back into his apartment – his  _ home _ – and the still warm drink sloshed over the sides, dribbling onto his clothes in a mess of fragrant energy. Enigmatic poise forgotten, he donned his usual composure, waving too enthusiastically at James and still quaking with humour. 

He only flashed Steve’s favourite suave smirk and waved back with short gestures in return. Any more and he would be clawing at his own skin to run back up the alley, shoes barely touching metal as he clambered back up the staircase and met Steve in the middle, mouths colliding, the force enough to make Steve reel back, but the reassurance enough to counteract that entirely. Relationship open and bare for the world to see: one day, it would happen. Turning again, he rounded the corner and out of sight. the tension in his chest cavity had him plummeting with weight, but he knew he’d be back tonight, repeating the routine they had built together. He caught glimpses of the fresh faced businessmen, dressed smartly in their tailored suits, passing him by as he made his way home. They all knew what his dishevelled look meant, all knew what the messy clothes, rucked up hair and dazed but satisfied facial expression upheld. The walk of the unashamed – all of them under the same impression he’d landed one of the finest dames in brooklyn. And maybe – all considerations of their surreptitious unity – they weren’t so wrong.  _ _


End file.
